Rough Draft 3

You are not alone.

It was a whisper.  But somehow it had brought back consciousness.  And a dull pain along the middle of her chest.

You are not alone.

And again, the whisper.  Who was there?  There was a gentleness in the voice, but it was not familiar.  It wasn’t fatherly, but there was a kindness in it.

You are not alone.

Her eyes flew open.  There was little light in the room, so there was no sudden flash of pain in her head.  No, the pain was deeper than that.  And sharp.  It was in her chest.  She was hurt and hurt badly, but… she was not alarmed.  There was no reason for this calm, but there it was, anyway.

His face hovered above.  Not malevolent. Short cropped gray hair, blue eyes.  Wait… didn’t he? Then it flooded back –  through all of this, through the pain and the blood (yes, she remembered the blood now) and her screams –  she never saw fury or anger or pleasure on the face that now lingered over her.  It was only a grim determination, as if he had a job to do – a duty to perform.  Was she dead?

“Welcome,” he said.

Welcome to where?  Shouldn’t she be angry or terrified or… shouldn’t she feel something?  But there was only calm.  And questions.

“Who are you?” she asked feebly, her throat felt thick and the pain was very acute now.

“You are not the first,” he said, ignoring her question.  “And you will not be the last. How do you feel?”

It struck her at that moment that she had absolutely no idea how she felt.  She was in pain, yes, but that was simple nerve response.  “I hurt.”

“Yes, that will pass.”  He turned from her to the small table.  She saw the knives laying on the leather pouch.  They were clean – almost pristine.  “But how do you feel?”

There was only one answer. “I don’t know.”

“Good.”  Then he rolled the knives into their pouch, dimmed the small table lamp and said, “Get some sleep, now.”

This entry was posted in Fiction by bgm1969. Bookmark the permalink.

About bgm1969

This blog is updated by a guy who’s overweight, silly, Liberal, spiritual rather than religious, infatuated with beauty and grace, musically blessed, and always changing.

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